Humanity Amid Horrid Hatred

Diwakar and Madhulika were oscillating with nervous steps on the wooden foot bridge over Jhelum. They were marching up and down, quite like a fifteen year old child waiting for his exam result. Every time they crossed the magistrates building, they would peep in deep, hoping for someone to come out and say “Sahab aapka kaam ho gaya”. Diwakar’s clock ticked 12 and there was still no sign of anyone announcing the good or the bad news. After much lingering, they perched themselves on the bleachers outside the tea vendors shop. “Diwakar, let’s leave now, I don’t think they will revert today”, said Madhulika. Diwakar replied “No Madhu let’s wait for some more time”. The tea vendor was a witness to this for the last three months. With vernacular tones he interjected “Sahabji, kuch nahi hoga. Inse kaam karvana bahut mushkil hai” (Sir, its difficult to get your work done here; most likely they will not do anything to help your case). Diwakar would always turn a deaf ear to the advice of the tea vendor and today it was no different. It was an autumn morning in the city. Harud, as it is called locally was not at its romantic zenith. The branches of the giant tree, which ordinarily bore golden mustard and red leaves, were displaying bare arms.  Even before the autumns could come calling for their share of the leaves, Chinar had already given away much of its youth and flamboyance to the despicable air. Diwakar had lived more through the vagaries of the wanton desires of human being over the vagaries of the nature.  He could never fathom why human kind blamed the mother- nature for its unpredictable tempers, but never raised an eyebrow over its own unabashed behavior.  He believed that no place on earth is good or bad. It is the proclivity of human beings to create unsavory or savory situations that makes a place incredible. Diwakar looked up at the skies, bereft of any blue color in them. The thick mop of grey and white clouds had enveloped the sapphire skies. It appeared to him that even the skies did not want to oblige him with any warm sun slivers.  Diwakar had developed a taste for the local pink salt tea, layered with rich white cream. In the span of three months at the tea vendor, he had made friends with many locals over a warm cup of salt tea served in china soup bowls, as was the custom; accompanied with the local yeast bread. The tea stall was just outside the Secretariat and was the hub for all political and social discussions.
That day Diwakar walked up to the tea vendor when a loud thud sound appeared from across the foot bridge. Diwakar was startled. Everyone around him had shivered and looked around for the source of the sound. There was utter chaos and commotion. The commoners jaunted. They ran helter-skelter looking for safe enclosures. The local commercial shops and office buildings had jolted. The vehicles on the road stopped. The police suddenly got alerted and cordoned off people. The shop owners shut down their shops and stepped out on the roads. Diwakar looked around to see if Madhulika was safe. He leaped on to hold her hand and ran for a safer spot.  They took shelter under one of the shops in the commercial place. Madhulika’s shaky and sweaty hands were encapsulated firmly in the hands of her husband. Madhulika teary eyes were a reflection of the fear and the displeasure she had about living in the valley. Diwakar stood like a man caught between his passion and the reality. He looked around for any rescue team when he eavesdropped into two inhabitants conversing. A man carrying two transparent poly bags, one bag was holding the everyday grocery for his family and the other poly bag was having an old used nebulizing machine with repsule alongside. He was pretending to ignore the chaos and was treading as fast as he could. He seemed to be in a rush to reach home. This very man lost his temper when a bystander stood in his way – “Are you new to this city? This happens here every day. Why are you standing midway and blocking my path? Can you please get aside and give me way. I have to rush back home!” he said angrily. The bystander was quite miffed by the other fellow and in a raised voice answered, ‘My dear, what logic will settle me, who lost his child to this senseless butchering and bombing by these evil souls.  I continue to live in the constant fear of facing death, every time I step out. But is there any assurance that we will not be killed if we are in our safe abode called home?’ There was a long pause of discomfort between the two. Diwakar turned to his wife and spotted a crystal pearl shaped teardrop falling off from her jaw line. In no time tears started falling off incessantly from her round face. He stretched to wipe the tears, Madhulika vehemently spoke, ‘I still cannot fathom the compelling reason for you to stay back in this war torn state? Life would have been so much safe and secure back home. What are you getting in return? So many months we have been coming here for a simple approval, but this gentleman in the Secretariat refuses to give his signature. Is it really worth all this?” Diwakar had nothing to say. His eyes were moist only for the hundreds of people who were scampering to reach to his side of the bridge. The seams of the wooden foot bridge were bursting open with the influx of people on it. They were all around, trying to be the first one to reach to the safer side, even if that meant tramping over small children, women or old people. Because kids, women and old people are physically weak, they could not reach to the finish line early. They appeared more like a herd of animals and less like a group of human beings. Diwakar wondered was it wrong to be selfish at a time, when the very existence of life was at stake.  In fact even the airlines mention in bold “Put your oxygen mask on before assisting others”. But good Samaritans don’t always go by the rule book. They just follow their heart. Amongst all the pushing, jostling, nudging there were many good souls who were rendering whatever help they could to the weaker and the unfortunates. Diwakar was a witness to the hapless lives that fell into Jhelum in their struggle for existence. He was also a witness to the many shards of glasses, parts of vehicles and market place sundry falling into Jhelum. The bomb was so powerful; he even witnessed the most disturbing part – limbs of human body part flying across into Jhelum. Jhelum seemed blissfully unaware of being a silent partner in the crime. Amidst all this a gentleman heavily clad in a thick leather jacket and cheap weekly bazaar muffler came out from the office shouting, ‘Listen the office has been shut down due to this sudden blast in the city; all those waiting please come back after two days.” Diwakar was not surprised. He had been through these minnow moments so many times. For him it was just another day of rejection. He perched on the tea vendor bench for some time, at least till the chaos settled down and he could hire an auto for his return. The tea vendor offered him a cup of tea but did not take claim of the bill. The couple were restless, they wanted to rush back home, but could not until the police and security agencies gave the clear signal.  While they were seated, a battalion of security forces, bomb squad and police tried to scan the area. They slowly marched towards the spot of the bomb blast.  In no time did the local MLA accompanied by his cronies reached the spot, only to give a phony comfort to the relatives of the dead people. The injured were taken to the closest hospital. Diwakar was a spectator to all the drill which had easily consumed some three hours. His valise which had nothing now, was never scrutinized at the time he had entered the Secretariat, but now it was getting examined nth time by the bomb squad people. He thought life has many ironies -The same herd of people who were a little while ago running for their mere existence had merged effortlessly in the crowd of onlookers. And what was wrong in it? They too had got back their priceless life, just like Diwakar and Madhulika, except some of them had some bruises on their faces, arm and legs and their synthetic clothes which had small burn stains because of the sparks from the fire. After the gruesome soul wrenching wait outside the tea vendor, they finally hired an auto and like all others, left for the safest place called home. The fact that they were living in a conflict infested state once again hit them right on their face and this decision to stay back was not driven by wherewithal but by humanity. Diwakar was a mid-aged man, who had travelled the world under various senior positions in a public sector office and had a lot of compassion for others. He believed in giving back to the society. In all the previous postings besides the regular office work, he would always find time for engaging in activities which would benefit the society. It could be educating the underprivileged girl child and women or facilitating the women with self-employment programs. He had won accolades for his efforts. But in this city it was different. Life was not like it was at the other places he had been to. A mere approval for starting a hostel facility for children was not getting a nod for the past three months now. Every time, he thought that he was close to the finish line, a paltry reason would always create a hindrance. Diwakar was quite moved by the social state of the city. It was a place inordinately living on bomb attacks, killing, suicide bombing, kidnapping, and many more atrocities. The city was like a mother, losing hundreds of its young sons and daughters everyday; either to the terrorist attacks or to the misleading cajoling of the attackers. He thought there is nothing he could do politically to change the scenario but at most he could help the people who were in misery. This is when he thought of starting a hostel for all those young children who were victim of this senseless butchering. But these young children were special because, they were the ones who had lost their parents in this bestial play of a few selfish people. They had lost their families in these cross fires and killings. After the act of madness, they were helpless and had to live in empty houses with no parents to look after them and protect them from any impending dangers and predators. No one was willing to own up to them and shelter them as they were wandered in emptiness.  The municipal or the designated social welfare department had thousands of such children who were in need of basic shelter.  They were not children of war, but they were children of senseless abhorrence. This abhorrence was not planted by them but by a handful of flippant characters, who had sold their self for pennies.  Why did these innocent souls have to pay the price? Aren’t they living in a free country which owes them a right to lead a normal life, to fulfill their dreams, to smile, to LIVE? It was time someone woke up to this truth and gave these children a future that they deserve. This was a reason enough for Diwakar to start a hostel for these desolate souls and also provide education to them. He wanted to reinstate their belief life, in goodness and start a fresh chapter. Diwakar knew the path ahead was not easy. He was in a state where the administration was fighting bigger issues and dangers. Neither would the administration appreciate nor encourage any such effort in the near future. Diwakar did not lose hope and decided to give it a shot. He wanted to, as always give something back to the society before relocating to a new city as per the job protocol. Time flies by, it was  three months back on 6th July 1999, Diwakar has started with the first piece of research. He wanted to be ready with all his homework and details before approaching the local office for an approval. It was a Tuesday and he did not get up as usual for work. Otherwise a very punctual person, Diwakar was lazing on the verandah and absorbing himself in the summer sun of the valley with a cup of tea. He waited for the clock to tick 10 am and there he was ready to step out with his valise.  Madhulika was amused by the delay for work but never bothered since she was used to his way of dealing with things. She remembered at his earlier posting, Diwakar had spent four full nights in the heat of Nagpur summer, writing notes and exercises for the illiterate women and older generation of the village.

Diwakar hired the state run matador and went from one police station to another from one social welfare office to another collecting all details about the demographic of the kids who have been orphaned by the fight and hence abandoned in the dingy by lanes and red lights of the city. It was not an easy ride for him. He was welcomed at certain places and at some places he was looked upon with vengeance and hatred. At certain offices the records were maintained to the T and in certain offices the record keeper did not comprehend Diwakar with at all details. On good days the government officer returned from lunch break in time and on bad days he never returned to furnish the records. On some days he would plan to visit the distant police station and unluckily enough on that very day the police forces would have to rush for a bomb or firing emergency. Thus went by two months of his struggle, talking, persuading, and waiting on the cold wooden benches of the police stations. On many days he had just managed to save himself from the terrorist attacks and killings. Having lived in the city for so many years, a death in a bomb attack was what he had trained his mind for. Taking quite an inspiration from the inhabitants of the city in turmoil, Diwakar had learnt to live on the edge with self-esteem and resilience. The localities had a strange sense of self confidence and belief in living whatever days they had, with peace and pride. The locals had no place to flee. They were settled there for ages. Diwakar discovered that they had a strange fetish for mind games. This kept them engaged and going in days of turmoil and unpredictability.
6th April, Sunday 2008
‘Hello, is that Mr. Diwakar Sir?’ said a meek voice on the phone. ‘Yes, that is right, Diwakar speaking. How can I help you?’ replied Diwakar ‘Good morning Sir, I am Yasmeen, from the Hope for Life hostel and school. I am so happy to talk to you Sir. I just wanted to thank you for all your efforts. I am joining a Medical college here in Delhi. Just can’t thank you enough for giving me the gift of education?’ replied the shaky but steady voice. Diwakar sighed, ‘Madhu, we are the proud parents of first batch of 30 children, who have passed their 12th exam and are now pursuing their professional dreams across India. They deserve a bigger applaud than us, for standing strong in the toughest of times and following their dream of education’
Diwakar and Madhulika glanced at the group photo of the first batch of children who had been enrolled in the Hope for Life hostel, lying predominantly on the glass console in the main hall. To give company to this photo frame, there were other frames of the teachers and support staff employed at the Hope for Life hostel and school. Diwakar had earned enough repute and respect in the valley. He would always have staff visiting him in Delhi or he would travel to the valley for the Hope for Life.